


Then and Now

by zeldadestry



Category: Entourage
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-20
Updated: 2012-04-20
Packaged: 2017-11-04 00:00:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/387410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeldadestry/pseuds/zeldadestry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are parts of his history Vince never uses when he’s acting.  There are plenty of moments that he can call on, bring up, when he needs them, but then there are others that he keeps private, a box of fragments he’ll never use for work.</p><p>He sorts through that collection, though, sometimes, when he’s doing nothing, chilling, staring into space.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Then and Now

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: mention of family violence

Memory fucks with Vince all the time. Once his father threw him against the kitchen fridge and he smacked his forehead really hard. Yeah, he remembers that happening, but what if the blow knocked something else out of his brain, some other part of his life that he’ll never get back? He was thirteen, then. His mom kept him out of school for a few days, waiting for the swelling to go down, so no one would ask.

There are parts of his history Vince never uses when he’s acting. There are plenty of moments that he can call on, bring up, when he needs them, but then there are others that he keeps private, a box of fragments he’ll never use for work.

He sorts through that collection, though, sometimes, when he’s doing nothing, chilling, staring into space. 

  


One Saturday afternoon, when he was sixteen, Vince went over to the Murphy’s late in the day. Eric’s mom was on her way out and she let him into the apartment. After she left, he stood in the living room and just took a breath in, inhaling being alone, alone with E. Vince went to his room slowly, quietly, wanting to surprise him. The door was ajar and when he peeked through the gap he could see E curled up in bed, asleep. No surprise, they’d partied until two a.m. the night before. So, Vince tiptoed in, and E didn’t stir, not even when Vince got into bed, facing him. That was such a good feeling, lying close enough to E to feel his breath, watch his chest rise and fall. His lips were slightly parted. E wasn’t wearing anything but his boxers and, after a few minutes, Vince got out of bed and stripped down to his own. Then he slipped into the bed on the other side so he could curve himself around the back of E’s body. Vince snuggled close but E never woke and Vince began to doze, drifting in and out of consciousness. It was like checking in, each time he woke up, making sure everything was ok before he passed out again and then, because how could it have gone on forever, there was a final time when his eyes cracked open and he took score of his surroundings and could feel the change in Eric’s body, the tension there, and his shallow breathing. “It’s ok,” Vince murmured, brushing his lips up the back of Eric’s neck. “E?”

“Yeah?” Eric rasped. 

Vince knew he was probably supposed to make some kind of excuse or joke about the situation but fuck that. All he really wanted to know was- “Are you hard?”

E never answered, just rolled away from Vince and got out of bed. And, yeah, Vince could see that he was, there was no way Eric could hide it, but his blush and refusal to look in Vince’s direction seemed to say that he was choosing to ignore the situation as much as possible. He hurried out of his bedroom and Vince could hear him moving down the hall and into the bathroom, where he started the shower. Then there was the loud crack of the door slamming shut behind him. Vince followed after him, knocked on the door. “E, come on, don’t freak out.” When Eric didn’t answer, Vince turned the knob but the door didn’t open. Eric had locked it. Vince decided to leave after that. He remembers getting dressed in Eric’s bedroom, the slanting light of the setting sun across his face, and meeting up with Turtle shortly afterwards at someone’s house party. Vince woke up the next morning wishing that getting wasted could have erased all but the middle of the memory. It didn’t matter how he ended up in E’s bed or how he left it, so all he needed was the in between of it, just being there, safe and warm, close to Eric, beside him. 

  


Yeah, it’s never been as easy as it should be, as Vince thinks it could be, everything with E. Why is it usually only when they’re high or drunk, able to brush it away without even acknowledging it the next morning? He asks himself that, sometimes, just like he sometimes wonders what might have happened if they’d stayed in New York. Maybe not Queens, maybe moved into Manhattan or something, he doesn’t know, he hasn’t thought it all the way through. It just seems like things might have been different then. How, though, he can’t quite picture. He can’t say what he wants changed, only that it’s there, a possibility. Of what? Just -- more, somehow. Just that. 

  


Eric kissed him, the first time, and Vince couldn’t believe it because he’d always thought he would be the one to give in, to finally just lean over and bring their lips together. But it was Eric. And it started slow and careful, just a pause between them, stillness, breathing each other in, so close, the press of Eric’s cheek against his own, Eric’s hand coming up to stroke, just once, fingertips sweeping gently down the side of Vince’s face. 

And then that time in Venice, for the film festival. Vince wouldn’t leave E’s bed, and E kept saying, come on, dude, you got what you wanted, so get the hell out of here and let me get some sleep, seriously, Vin, I’m exhausted. And Vince kept refusing to go, and E would push and prod at him, and Vince would fight back by tickling E, wouldn’t stop until E was wheezing and almost crying, he was laughing so hard. Alright, alright, you can stay, you don’t fight fair, you fucking bastard. And Vince threw up his arms like a boxer who just won his decision and then flopped back down to the mattress, curled up on his side and lay his head atop Eric’s chest, and Eric shifted just enough to turn off the light. 

“Night, Vin,” Eric said. 

“Sweet dreams,” Vince said. He reached for Eric’s hand, brought it to his own mouth so that Eric could feel what he wouldn’t be able to see, that Vince was smiling, happy. 

Vince was surprised when Eric spoke again, voice low, hesitant. “Vince?” 

“Yeah?”

“You still buzzed?”

“Yeah.”

“I just-” 

Vince could hear Eric’s heart drumming faster and faster. “What?”

“I love you, bro. You know that, right?” 

Bro. Like that could make it all safe, manageable. “Of course you do. I’m a star, baby. I’m making you rich.”

  


And he never told E, he always told E he wanted him in California, but he never told E how lonely he was without him. And it wouldn’t matter even if he had. Because sometimes he saw how E looked at him, sometimes he saw how E looked through him, just like Ari did, just like a million people had done before and would yet do, because, at the end of the line, most people find it easier to believe that Vince is nothing on the inside. Yeah, because if he’s empty, then that makes it easier for them to fill him up with any fantasy they please. And that’s the ugly, god damn, but it’s ugly, truth. 

Mandy always scolded him to read more, learn more, care more. And he liked that, to feel like someone expected him to be better. 

He was so lonely without E but, even now, sometimes, when Eric’s here, but distant, for whatever reason, busy, angry, distracted, disappointed, or just caught up in something else he wants, something he cares about that doesn’t have to do with Vince, that sadness returns, that feeling of reaching out, again and again, for something he never quite gets his hands on. And sometimes he wonders if he shouldn’t just throw it away, start over, try again, with someone new. But he knows E, he knows E better than he knows anyone else and still wants him, and not despite, no, because, and he doesn’t trust that he could find someone else who matches that, who even approaches it. 

  


So he’s about to sign on for a role in a movie playing his own father now, basically, and he can tell E worries about him, can tell that E’s thinking about the shit back home that they pretend can’t touch them anymore. And Vince is thinking about all the girls who were good to him, back then, all the girls who said nice things to him and touched him soft and kissed him sweet and called him pet names and basically gave him as much affection as they could. And he appreciated it, but it never meant as much as just knowing E was there, E was his. 

“You’re sure you want to do this role?” E keeps asking, and maybe the biggest reason Vince wants it is because it’s for Terrence fuckin Malik and you don’t say no to that, but he’s also aware of how much it satisfies him to have E looking out for him. Because as much as he gives E shit and complains about E hovering over him and worrying, he secretly craves it. E caring that much about Vince, about his happiness, is pretty much the best thing ever. 

“Yeah.” Vince leans over, gets in E’s face, like a taunt, a challenge. “What’s the problem? Don’t you think I’m good enough?”

Eric smirks. “I never doubt that,” he says. He tugs on the front of Vince’s shirt. “Just, ya know, making sure, that’s all.”

“Oh,” Vince says, tipping forward just enough to brush his lips across Eric’s, “I’m sure.”

“Good,” Eric says, and there’s no fear or concern etching lines around his eyes and across his forehead right now, he wears just a small, uncomplicated smile. “If you’re sure, I’m sure,” he says, and Vince decides to accept it as the declaration he’s pretty confident it is.


End file.
